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User blog:SalemtheCruel/The Blademaster's Tale
Book One: Oracles, Ravagers and New Recruits Chapter One: The sable in the hills A tall, silver sable stood on the high salt cliffs near Salamandastron, wearing a black cloak that swished in the wind. His name was Armuk Rinn the Conqueror and anybeast that defied his horde or himself was a dead one! Armuk's Oracle, a blind Pine Marten named Addison stood next to him, paw on his shoulder. The sable's silence was frightening to her. When Armuk Rinn was silent, it meant that somebeast was approaching Hellgates faster than they thought. "Wot's da matter m'lord?" She asked in her peculiar accent. "Is something not to yer liking?" Armuk's muzzle twisted into a scowl. "Not to my liking!" He snarled. "NOTHING is to my liking, Addison! This raid was a failure! Salamandastron was simply too well-armed! Hellgates, I'll never take it and live!" Addison smiled an odd smile. "You shall, my lord." She assured him. "The visions have treated me favorably these past few weeks, and I have foreseen it. It is so." Armuk shifted on one footpaw. "Good." He glanced up at the azure summer sky. Seagulls screeched and wheedled. "Little beasts..." He muttered, and produced a long sword from his sheath and hurled it into the air. As they were flying in a straight line, the seagulls were all impaled, one right after another. They fell to the grass with a steady '' Whump!'' Armuk's blue gaze shifted to the nearby beach. "You." He said to Addison. "Find Brownjaw and tell him to muster the horde at once!" Addison grimaced. "I... I shall my lord." "I SAID AT ONCE!" Without another word, Addison took off running, navigating well despite her disability. Armuk smiled at her from a distance and prepared to remove the dead animals from his sword. The Conqueror was coming..... In Mossflower Woods, a sixteen-year-old hare named Feryn Kordyne sat quietly at the dinner table of his little house, parents and sister alongside him. They ate dinner at their simple wooden table without a word. It was a stretch to call their minuscule repast a full meal. Hard times had fallen on the Kordynes ever since their crops had failed twice that year (They were farmers by ancestry.) and they struggled to make ends meet. Nothing had ever been quite the same in the family since. "Mom, Dad..." Feryn said, clearing his throat. His ten-year-old sister Rebecca gave him a look. He ignored the look and waited for his parent's responses. "Yes, son?" Mr. Kordyne said, wiping his muzzle with a yellowed napkin. "I went to Shae's Creek and talked to the recruiter. I'm in the Long Patrol." Rebecca and Feryn's parents gave their son a look. "Feryn." Feryn's mother said, getting up from her chair. "You're awfully young to be in the Long Patrol. It's dangerous out there." Feryn cleared his throat. "I know what I'm doing." He said, voice firm. "and besides," He added. "My pay will help support us and maybe by the time I come home the crops will be better. In the spring if we've saved enough maybe we can afford to get another plow. I know it'll take time." He sighed. "But with work it'll happen! Dad!" Feryn turned to his father. "Didn't you come from two generations of farming hares before me?" Mr. Kordyne gave his son a long look and then he said with a sigh: "Feryn, son, there's something your mother and I haven't told you..." Feryn blinked, deeply surprised and shocked. "My father and my grandfather weren't farmers. They were both in the Long Patrol. That's how your grandfather died, Feryn, on the battlefields of Terramort during the Great Vermin War. That's why I'm hesitant to let you go but..." Again he sighed. "Son, it's your destiny. You join the Long Patrol." Mrs. Kordyne made a grab at her husband's shoulders. "Dixon, you're being unreasonable!" She protested. "Our son could die on the battlefield!" "Amelie, it's what he was born to do!" As their parents battled, Feryn turned to Rebecca. She stood, wide-eyed and somewhat frightened in the kitchen door. "Come on, Beck." He took her paw. "You go outside. I've got something to show you." Feryn led Rebecca outside to their small backyard, which wasn't much to look at, as much of it was taken up by their field. But at the far lefthand corner of the yard, there stood an ancient sycamore tree, bent over by time and lightning, with dozens of firm, solid branches jutting upward towards the heavens. "Come on Rebecca, don't be such a slowpoke!" Feryn joked, trying to maintain his good mood as he raced across the damp lawn, his sister close behind. "No fair! You always beat me!" Rebecca protested as she reached the trunk of the tree. "Next time I'll let you win." Feryn clung to the bark with his claws, and then scaled the tree as well as a squirrel, Rebecca ahead of him by inches. Halfway up they reached their favorite branch, the one that somehow seemed closest to the velvety, midnight-blue sky polka-dotted with silver stars. After what seemed like hours of staring up at the stars, Rebecca said "So you're really joining up with the Patrol?" She asked. Feryn nodded grimly. "I want an adventure. And..." He sighed. "It'll give us a chance to be happy, Rebecca. We're struggling. Maybe now we can have some real food on the table, and new clothes too. And besides," Feryn put a paw around his sister's shoulders. "I feel like I have to do this." Then he told his sister the secret he'd only just learned of himself. "Write to me!" Rebecca said as Feryn scaled down the tree. "I will!" He called up. In seconds Rebecca was down as well. "Don't complain." She said, and quickly kissed him on the muzzle. Feryn had to smile. "Complain, complain, complain!" He mimicked in a high-pitched voice. Rebecca giggled and darted inside the screened-in porch. Feryn however, lingered. The candle that had only minutes ago been burning brightly in the parlor window had flickered out. Chapter Two: Reflections of the Dead Meanwhile, at Salamandastron it was nightfall, as in Mossflower. Gorath the Flame, the slightly elderly badger lord was pacing his forge chamber, habitually fixing lopsided furniture or straightening crooked throw rugs. His seventeen-year-old son Brang was due in any minute. Gorath had asked for him over ten minutes ago and he still wasn't there yet. After a few more minutes of this, Gorath collapsed in exasperation in his burgundy wing chair. Brang was a typical seventeen-year-old: Overall, he could be serious, but only when he wanted to be. Other than that he was reckless, impatient, and liable to get into fights. It was those last three things that worried his father the most. Where is Brang? Gorath thought, sighing, but at the same time he probably knew: If Brang was anywhere, he was holed up in some conference room with the Long Patrol, smoking a cigar, or playing cards or laughing over some cheap inside joke. This was what Brang did to entertain himself. Gorath got up from his chair, hearing paws outside his closed door. A voice came from outside: "Dad? I'm here." Brang. "Come in!" Gorath said, getting the door for his son. Gorath gave his son a stern look. Yes, Brang had been gambling over something trivial. His breeches were creased, suspenders crooked, and there was a rebellious grin on his face. Gorath sighed and resumed pacing. "What do you want to talk to me about?" Brang asked quietly, sensing his father wanted to talk about something very serious. Gorath stopped pacing. "It's about your heritage. I want you to follow me to the tomb." Brang was not squeamish about the prospect of going in a tomb nor had he ever been, as the place had been his playground as a toddler. So Brang, concealing words of protest, followed his father out of his bedroom and town a winding set of marble stairs cut into the hall. The stairs were long, and went down a flight. A tiny, always-lit lamppost at the stairrail lit up the otherwise dark stone room under the ground. The tomb was airy and cool, and it was a beautiful summer night, the moon shining through the stained-glass windows and casting colored shadows on father and son’s hides. The tomb was silent, as always except for the occasional tapping of Gorath’s staff on the stone floor. Gorath and Brang traversed the familiar room, passing the stone effigies of each and every badger lord or lady, the latter of which mounted on their coffins. Brang wanted to say something but he didn’t know what. He’d been to the tomb hundreds of times as a young child, and felt he was never alone while there; it was as though the spirits of his ancestors were watching over him. After ten minutes of walking, Brang and Gorath reached the coffin of Melanius the Gallant, one of the few female leaders of Salamandastron. Brang had often felt raptured staring at her statue: The long-dead badger lady was tall, and wore a subtle, wry smile. She also wore a stone cloak forever flapping in a nonexistent wind. In one paw, Melanius clutched a stone daffodil, and in the other she held a battle-axe. Her face was proud, but not arrogant, and worn slightly away, covered in dust, but that somehow only made her even more beautiful. “Son,” Gorath sighed, leaning on Melanius’s chest. “I brought you down here because there’s something I must tell you.” Five years ago or even three, Brang would’ve rolled his eyes and scornfully thought Lecture time! But that was then, this was now. “What?” Brang whispered, struggling to keep a calm face, as he knew what was going on. “Son.” Gorath put a paw on Brang’s shoulders. “You know I won’t be around forever, and that one day you must succeed me as the Badger Lord of Salamandastron. When I was your age, my adopted father told me the same thing and his father before that. Brang, I know it’s hard, but I’m not exactly young anymore. Someday soon I’ll step down, and the throne will be yours. And as the next Badger Lord your duties will be to defend Salamandastron from vermin, head the Long Patrol, and act as a listener or advisor to anybeast who desires your counsel. It’s the family tradition Brang, and soon I’ll be too old to shoulder it.” Gorath paused, gazing into Melanius’s stone eyes. He sighed. “Do you know who this is, Brang?” Brang nodded solemnly. “Melanius the Gallant.” He said automatically. He knew every Badger Lord and Lady’s name by heart. “Yes, and she was your great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother, called the best Badger Lady of her time.” Brang held up a paw, beginning to get somewhat impatient. “I know. Because she defended the mountain from a vermin onslaught, warned Redwall, and won the day." "Exactly. My son, one day that was me and another day it shall be you. They say the spirits of each and every badger lord and lady linger here. Your ancestors. They are not here to haunt the mountain, only to give out advice in times of need. But now, now they are only dormant. Sleeping. One day Brang, mark my words, you'll be down here seeking out their wisdom. But not now. This is a time of peace and we shall cherish every moment of it." For a long time, father and son stared together at the statue of Melanius. After a while Gorath picked up his staff from where he'd propped it, and said "You may stay a while longer if you wish." And headed for the stairs. And somehow, for some reason that is what Brang chose to do. Brang was alone in the tomb now. The effigies of his ancestors reflected pale shadows onto the stained-glass windows. Out of habit, Brang sat down on the floor in front of Melanius’s statue, the way he had done many times as a child. “I don’t know if any of you are here,” He said with a sigh. “Or if you hear me. But I’m here and I want your advice! I don’t think I’ll make a very good badger lord. My father is ashamed of me. If there’s anything you have to tell me, anything you want to know….” “BOO!” Brang nearly jumped out of his pelt as a somewhat-familiar voice screeched behind a white marble pillar. The scream was followed by a giggle. Brang opened one eye as a half-shadowed figure came out from behind the pillar. It was his sister, Rowanbloom. If anybeast could claim the title of Melanius’s double it was her. Rowanbloom’s pelt was a deep dark black, like blue velvet, and her eyes were wise and strong. She even wore a bright green cloak similar to the one Melanius had worn in life. She was also thirty in comparison to Brang’s seventeen. Still laughing, Rowanbloom said “Seventeen and still afraid everything are you, Brang?” She looked up at the black-painted sky on the tomb ceiling. “It’s good to be back.” She said after a pause. “Welcome home, Ro.” Brang said, engulfing his mischievous sister in a bear-hug. When they were done with their little reunion, Brang said “How come Dad never said you’d come home?” Rowanbloom shrugged. “I guess he wanted to surprise you.” “So,” Brang said, leaning on a pillar. “Was Malkariss interesting?” Rowanbloom wrinkled her nose hearing the name of the place in the south. “No!” She said immediately. “It was repulsive and boring. All they have to offer down there is slaves and arrogance.” So brother and sister kept up their conversation a while, until Rowanbloom’s eyes strayed to the effigy of a tiny badgerbabe mounted on a coffin. Without a word she went to it. Brang followed. The badgerbabe’s name had been Blaireau, five minutes older than Rowanbloom, and by birthright he’d been Salamandastron’s next badger lord. But fate had been cruel to him. At the tender age of two years old Blaireau had succumbed to the awful Dryditch Fever; making Brang next in line for the throne after adventurous, but always-traveling Rowanbloom declined the position. “What was he like?” Brang asked as they stood over the coffin. Rowanbloom only shrugged vaguely. “I barely remember him myself.” She said, gazing down at the epitaph written on Blaireau’s coffin: HE PLAYS BETWITXT THE MOONLIGHT AND SLEEPS AMONG THE STARS. “I do remember he liked to carry a toy sword around, though. It’s the same one you played with later.” Rowanbloom added. Brang’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d never known he owned a deadbeast’s plaything before. “I wish I knew him.” Brang said, studying the epitaph for a long time. Rowanbloom nodded. “I know. I myself wish I could’ve known him for longer.” Rowanbloom and Brang visited with Blaireau for a few minutes longer before departing on the stairs, leaving the long-forgotten would-be badger lord alone in his dark, eternal resting place. Chapter Three: The New Recruit When Feryn came back inside, he entered the living room to find it near-deserted. Rebecca was nowhere to be seen. Probably in her room. Feryn thought sourly, facing his parents. His mother looked upset, but his father looked proud. In addition, Dixon Kordyne held the broadsword from the mantle in his paw. “Son,” Dixon said, beckoning Feryn to his side. “Take this blade. I have no use for it. First it was my grandfather’s, then my father’s, and now yours.” Feryn glanced at the sleek broadsword his father held. Feryn had spent hours polishing it and cleaning it as a younger hare, but never once did he so much dream he’d ever own it! “Use it well.” “I will!” Feryn said in a tear-choked voice, embracing his father. After a moment, Feryn turned uncertainly towards his mother. “Be careful,” She said. Feryn nodded. “I will.” He whispered. “I will.” “When will you be leaving?” Feryn’s mother Amelie asked. Feryn shrugged. “Probably at dawn.” “At dawn it is.” His father said. The following morning Feryn stood on the porch, lacing up his old harvesting-boots, wearing an ancient wool coat and a kilt. His sword was sheathed to his belt. “Now,” Feryn said as he stood up, wagging a claw at Rebecca. “You take care of Mom. Okay?” Rebecca nodded. “Can do.” She said. Feryn looked around several times before he kissed his sister on the cheek. “Feryn!” She exclaimed and wriggled out of his grasp. Feryn had to smile. “I’ll be back on leave at the end of the summer!” He said as he stepped off the porch. Rebecca prepared to go inside. “Okay! I’ll expect you!” She waved, and then went inside and closed the door as Feryn disappeared from view. Feryn, on the other hand soon found out that nature had constructed the perfect day: It was warm, but not too hot out. The sky was a bright turquoise color, untouched by a single cloud. The dirt felt good under his shod paws, and the grass growing along the dirt road was emerald green and pleasant to look at. But as afternoon came along, the hare grew hot and weary. After a time he came upon a curious sight: what appeared to be the ruins of a house- except that only a brick chimney and fireplace were left. It didn’t appear to be that old; the stone and wood showed no sign of rot. Old or not old, Feryn approached it anyway. The fireplace was in the shade, and he had to find someplace cool to sit before he succumbed to heat stroke. “Curioser and curioser….” Feryn muttered as he gazed out at the scattered shard of pottery in the grass near the fireplace. He started towards the fireplace through the crabgrass and sat down on the bricks. Oddly, the stones were warm but for summer that wasn’t surprising. So Feryn ignored the strange warmth and opened his haversack. “Thank God I packed vittles…” He muttered to himself, producing a leek and mushroom pasty, as well as some wheatbread. There was a little marmalade for dessert. So Feryn bit greedily into the pasty, and was soon so engrossed in eating and leaving, that he almost didn’t notice the black paws wrapping around the bowl of marmalade and dragging it through the fireplace. Almost. Bewildered, the young hare immediately spun around, trying to see who’d snatched his dessert. Then he heard the mischievous giggling and thought he knew: A troublemaking young one had undoubtedly stolen his food. What a younger creature was doing in these ruins he didn’t know, but Feryn intended to find out. “All right, show yourself.” He growled, trying to frighten the young one into coming out. “You’re going up against Feryn Kordyne of the Long Patrol…” A timid voice came from behind the chimney “L-l-Long Patrol? Here I am, here I am!” Through an almost unnoticeable crawlspace in the fireplace, a scrawny young ferret of about seven dragged himself into the open. He clutched Feryn’s bowl of marmalade to his chest. His clothes were ragged and covered in soot, but his eyes were bright and spritely, but Feryn still did not let down his caution even as the ferret set down the bowl. “I… I didn’t mean it.” The ferret whispered. Feryn slowly became less suspicious. “Well, who are you then, and what are you doing here?” The ferret picked on a scab on his paw-pad. “I’m Alex.” He said in his odd accent, which seemed to be a cross of Malkarrian and Scraggwayan. “And I’m here ‘cos I ain’t got no job.” Feryn was no longer suspicious, however he was somewhat unconvinced of the beginning of the ferret’s story. A seven-year-old working? Yeah, right. He thought, but said nothing. “Used to be a stable boy up in the city. They threw me out because they said I didn’t work fast enough.” The ferret wrinkled his muzzle. “So I moved out here. I like this place. I thought nobody’d find it for a while. But then you did.” Alex paused. “You must be right clever.” Feryn shook his head, saying “I’m smart but no one’s really called me clever.” And with that, he stood up, ate some of the marmalade and packed the remainder into his haversack. Feryn sheathed his sword and prepared to move on. Alex scrambled up beside him. “Don’t go!” He protested. “It’s boring out here!” He paused. “I… I’m real good with trails an’ things. I might be able to help you get where you goin’. So where you goin’?” “Salamandastron.” Feryn said automatically. “Salamandastron?” Alex scoffed. “I can get you there in a blink!” Feryn considered this. If Alex was right about being a good guide; getting to Salamandastron probably wouldn’t be so hard. On the other paw; if he turned out to be lying (which Vermin usually did a great deal of.) Feryn would end up in the middle of nowhere, most likely penniless. I’ll compromise. He thought quickly. I’ll let Alex take me halfway, and if he is what he seems I’ll stay with him. Satisfied with his judgment, Feryn straightened and said “Lead the way.” Alex broke into a grin. “Thanks!” He exclaimed. “Yew won’t regret it!” But the young ferret bounded ahead of Feryn, and Feryn sighed. “Alex, will you cut that out?!” He shouted. “You’re going too fast for me!” But just as Feryn caught up with the wily ferret, Alex only did so again. Feryn grimaced. “Alex! I have patience, but it’s getting thin, so would you please keep up with me?” Alex made a face but kept walking. So the hare and the ferret walked alongside each other for some time with no event. Lunchtime faded into midafternoon. The sky became even bluer. It got hotter. Feryn winced. His tongue was cracked and dry from lack of thirst. He swished a bit of saliva around in his mouth, trying to savor whatever he had left. After a moment, the hare looked up, sighing heavily. Alex had started up with his troublesome antics yet again- now he was belting out a southern war song in a baritone voice: “Rrrrally ‘round the Malkarrians, rally ‘round the Malkarrians! Rally round the Malkarrians all the livelong day!” “Stop it Alex.” He muttered, paying more attention to the road. Salamandastron was getting nearer in the distance. Alex kept singing. And singing. After about five more minutes of this Feryn could stand it no longer. “SHUT UP!” He finally snarled, losing control of his temper. “If you can get me to Salamandastron I suggest you’d hurry.” Feryn called over his shoulder, trotting at a brisker pace simply just to avoid Alex’s presence. Luckily for Feryn, Salamandastron was only ten more minutes away. By the time the hare and the ferret neared the extinct volcano, it was all Feryn could do not to sing out in joy at the prospect of being…. Alex-less. “Won’t ever travel with him again…” Feryn muttered as he strode down the trail to Salamandastron. After a while, Feryn stopped to catch his breath at a simple forest clearing. Redwood trees sprouted up out of the ground and nearly blocked the sun. The sky was a perfect turquoise; the ground flesh-colored and littered with small pebbles and old pawtracks. But what really caught Feryn’s attention was Salamandastron, the great, famous mountain that seemed to tower above all else. Feryn stared at it in rapture for a long time, the way a human country boy would gawk at Times Square upon seeing it for the first time. After the clouds began moving on the horizon, the hare moved on as well. For a moment Feryn squinted, thinking he saw a tannish shape darting in and out of the trees. Then, after a few minutes passed and he didn’t see the shape again, Feryn shrugged and continued on. But then, just as the mountain was within reach, the blur made a reappearance and knocked Feryn to the ground. “Washa! It’s the new recruit!” Gasping and wide-eyed, Feryn stared up at the somewhat fat, tan-colored hare in green trousers and a jacket who’d just tackled him. “What’d you do that for?!” Feryn whispered. The hare cringed. “S-sorry!” He spluttered, offering a paw to Feryn. Feryn took the hare’s paw and stood up, brushing dirt off his kilt. “Didn’t mean to shove you.” The other hare said, still cringing. “Just an accident.” “No wonder they call me Clumsy Gabe…” He muttered to himself. “So you’re Gabe?” The hare turned, startled to see that Feryn had heard his self-musings. “Yup. That’s me all right! I’m Gabe Whipscutt of the Long Patrol, first-class private and it’s my duty show you the ropes!” Gabe seemed to gain composure all of a sudden. “And, I’m not the new guy anymore!” Gabe’s enthusiasm was almost contagious, and Feryn found himself thinking: He’s probably better than Alex. “So you’re new too?” “Nope! Not anymore!” Gabe squealed. “I just joined up in April. Before you I was the newest member of the Patrol.” “The patrol has a pecking order, doesn’t it?” Feryn asked, knowing but not really caring he’d be at the bottom of it. Maybe it had something to do with his being a modest farm boy, because Feryn didn’t really care that much, if at all about being popular. “Yup. That we do.” Gabe said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an apple. He bit into it with gusto. Knowing little about the military and how it worked, Feryn asked “So to get in…. Will it be… Hard?” Gabe shrugged. “It shouldn’t be. Just the usual: Can you haul a load of sugar bags or how many push-ups can you do.” Feryn heaved a sigh of relief. Physical work he could definitely do; growing up in a rural area, after all. “So where do you come from?” As they trotted down the summer trail, Feryn realized he could learn to like Gabe Whipscutt after all. Feryn shrugged. “East. On a farm, down by Shae’s Creek.” “What’s that?” Now Feryn found himself being the one to exchange things. “It’s a village. A hamlet really.” “Cool. So. How many animals in your family?” “It’s just my Mom, my Dad and my kid sister Rebecca.” Feryn felt homesick just thinking about his sister’s name. “Yeah. I’m an only child…” Gabe said, voice trailing off. As they traveled on, Gabe and Feryn talked idly, ranging from stories of farm vs. military life to the going-ons of celebrity warriors. Finally, as Salamandastron was only a few feet away, Gabe trotted briskly ahead and said to Feryn. “I’ll see ya later after you get in. I’m sure ya will. And one thing you should know…” “What?” Gabe grinned. “Colonel Wildwood has a really hot daughter. Her name’s Venya. She’s untouchable. Like a rock, but harder to crack. I think she’s waiting for Mr. Right.” So the two odd friends stopped there, two unlikely hares both on their way to Salamandastron. Chapter Four: First Day on the Job Meanwhile, Armuk Rinn sat in the Ravager's current camp, the ruins of an abandoned mansion, looking barbarically elegant as far as sables could go. He sat in a smashed wooden chair, propped against a bas-relief statue of a hippogriff. Armuk chuckled as he sipped his brandy. Everything was going exactly according to plan! Sounds of somebeast playing on a lute or lyre drifted in from the courtyard and he smiled. Armuk looked up as his healer/ personal physician, Crazyeyes came trotting in from the courtyard, carrying a cup of barley wine. Crazyeyes was a thin, blue-clad sewer rat who always stuttered when he was nervous. He was however, still a good addition to Armuk’s horde. “Crazyeyes. Take stock of my inventory.” “In a moment, your Lordship, when I’m not busy.” “Do it!” Crazyeyes cringed and gulped. Armuk’s blade was at his throat. “Y-yes m’lord.” Crazyeyes read aloud from the parchment scroll “S-sixteen casks of wine. Two horses. Five-hundred an' thirty-six jewels, precious an' semi precious. Seventeen gold rings. Longswords; six hundred, eighteen 'undred broadswords, a hundred bows and arrows and one….. Trebuchet.” Armuk smiled as he poured himself more wine. Raising the flask to his lips, he drank some and then set it down. Armuk caught a glimpse of his reflection on the wall mirror. His fur was pale, but it was undoubtedly from spending most of the day indoors…. Or so he thought, anyway. Now that he was bored of Crazyeyes, Armuk quickly snapped to attention. “Get out of my sight, you filthy wretch!” Crazyeyes winced. Such fits of name-calling were not common in any horde, but had a special place in Armuk’s. “And find Brownjaw. I want to see him.” “What for?” “Don’t ever question my orders, Crazyeyes.” Armuk hissed. “Just do what I ask and you shall live. Disobey me once and you die. Do I make myself, clear, wretch?” “Yes.” “Good. Now get Brownjaw! Tell him that after lunch we’re going hunting. Hunting for hares….” Feryn sat outside Salamandastron. There were clouds gathering on the horizon, but there probably wouldn’t be a storm. Either way, the hare was bored out of his mind. He’d just been accepted into the Long Patrol, and given half an hour’s break before training started. Half an hour seemed like an eternity out in the middle of nowhere. At least at home on the farm he always had something to do. Feryn sighed, somewhat homesick. At home all his time had been taken up by chores, but at least they were something to do. Feryn stared down into the barren ground and played with a few blades of grass, ripping them ildy out of the ground. After twenty seconds this became boring, so he scrambled onto a mattress-shaped rock and put his front legs behind his head. After a few moments, a breeze that was both warm and cool swept through the nearby meadow, and there was something tranquil about seeing the grass blowing in the wind. Lulled by his peaceful surroundings, Feryn soon found himself drifting into an unexpected nap, strange music ringing in his ears: Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality! Open your eyes, look up to disguise and see….. I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, because I’m easy come, easy go. Little high, little low….. Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me….. To me….. Feryn was almost asleep when his eyes registered a faint, large shape on the horizon. Gabe was coming from the righthand side of the mountain, running like greased lightening. He wore a haversack on his back, maybe full of vittles for a mid-afternoon snack. He laughed when he saw Feryn, stretched out on the flat rock. “Well, well, well, Feryn, me old messmate, sleepin’ on the job, aren’t you now?” He laughed. “Just kiddin’. We can do whatever we flippinbally on break, b’cuz it’s peacetime!” Feryn watched, now fully awake as Gabe played around with his haversack a minute before pulling out a dark green, seaweed-colored tunic and a kilt of the same color. Feryn stared at it, wide-eyed in disgust. He had never laid eyes on anything so hideous. “That’s my uniform?” He whispered. He’d always known that Long Patrol uniforms weren’t pretty but he hadn’t been expecting this. Gabe chuckled. “Yup. Not like I’d need a spare!” Without a word, Feryn stuffed his uniform into his potato-sack bag. “So Gabe,” He said, getting up and stretching. “How much break time we got left?” Gabe shrugged. “Around twenty minutes. Why?” “I’m bored.” Gabe leapt up. “And y’don’t think I’m any better, Feryn?” Gabe pointed to the meadow. “C’mon. Let’s go explore while we can!” Feryn joined him, grinning. “Couldn’t have thought of a better idea!” And raced off to join his friend in the exploration of the meadows. As Feryn and Gabe strided across the meadows. they caught side of something. At first what was litle more than a shadow racing in from the distance, it became clearer as it approached. It was Venya Wildwood, the Colonel's daughter, practicing riding on one of her father's horses. And Feryn knew, with an instinctive kind of animal feeling that he loved her. Feryn gazed at Venya, in a daze. She looked so beautiful yet tough; with the warm June sun shining onto her dark fur, and her sitting so high upon her horse. The landscape was as perfect as Venya; dotted with purple and yellow flowers. Flowers and tall grass waved gently in the breeze, and the sky was a perfect shade of azure. As he stared at Venya Wildwood in rapture; it certainly didn’t take Feryn very long to realize he was in love. But before he could continue his daydream, Venya reigned in her horse just a few feet from where they stood. "I told you she was hot." Gabe squealed into Feryn's ear. But before either could say anything else, it was Venya who spoke. "Hey. I'm Venya. My Dad said we'd have a new recruit today." She shifted her green gaze to Feryn. "That's me." He said, regaining his composure rapidly, blushing. "And Gabe," She added in a mock-stern voice. "Lay off the candied chestnuts. You're looking a bit pudgy there." Gabe also blushed. After a moment of silence, Venya asked "Either of you need a lift?" "Yes. We're hopelessly lost." Feryn said, stepping forward. "All right," Venya dismounted. "I'll take you back to the mountain then. It's not too far." She took the reigns of her horse and walked off. Feryn followed, and so did Gabe. As the three went off into the warm afternoon sun, Feryn got the uncanny feeling they were being watched. Not wanting to be dismissed, he kept silent. The afternoon dragged on. Feryn and several of some of the other newer hares had training with Venya in an isolated clearing. At the present, she stood next to Feryn, instructing him on arrows. “Okay, you’re doing good, Feryn. You just need to remember to hold the bow straight and everything will be fine.” She released her paws from Feryn’s bow and watched as he pulled back the string and fired. It was not a perfect bulls-eye but it hit the target anyway. Feryn grinned and loaded another arrow into his bow and kept practicing. Meanwhile, in the bushes at the very edge of the clearing Armuk and his weasel captain Brownjaw were both spying and eavesdropping on the Patrollers. “D-did you see that, Chief?” Brownjaw whispered in a frightened voice. “Them rabbits sure can f-fight.” “Shut up, you imbecile!” Armuk snarled in a low voice, clamping a paw over the weasel’s muzzle. “Shut your gob, or they’ll hear us from miles away!” As the sable snapped out this remark, he got spittle all over Brownjaw’s muzzle. The weasel cringed and wiped it dry on his torn sleeve. “But Chieeeef…” Brownjaw whined like a five-year-old. “I could kill ‘em all at once if only you’d let me!” “That’s not the point!” Armuk snapped, gazing up at the sky. “My point, Brownjaw,” He explained in a cold tone. “Is that we keep them alive, especially that Venya one, for as long as we need to. By the time I’m done with ‘em they’ll wish they were never born.” He chuckled slyly at this. But Brownjaw was mystified. “Whuh whuh whuh…. We do?!” Armuk slapped his temple melodramatically. “I’m SURROUNDED by idiots.” He moaned, and then said “Why did I ever make you second-in-command? You have no brainpower! Get going before I give your job to someone else! Tell Addison to meet me at the neck of the woods at sunset. There’s something I want to talk to her about that doesn’t concern you.” “Aye, Chief!” Brownjaw soundlessly bounded off through the back of the bush, leaving Armuk alone with his devices. A sly smile curved up on the sable’s face. Everything was going exactly according to plan. If everything succeeded; Salamandastron AND Redwall would both be conquered and occupied by summer’s end. If everything succeeded. If everything succeeded…… Chapter Five: Spies and Secrets There was a sudden silence in the already-quiet clearing where Feryn, Gabe, Venya and other hares were practicing archery and other things. Gabe stiffened and raised his head as a lanky, teenaged badger could be seen coming in from the north. Without a word Venya ran to greet him, and immediately they began conversing like old friends. “Who’s that?” Feryn whispered to Gabe. “That’s Brang, His Lordship’s son. Lord Gorath’s best friends with the Colonel, so therefore Venya and Brang are pretty tight. I think he’s here to meet you.” “Is his father coming?” Feryn asked, cocking his head, and leaning on his bow. Gabe shook his head. “These days Lord Gorath’s way too busy for most stuff, so it’s a pretty jolly old wheeze that Brang can come out here to meet you.” Suddenly Gabe was silent as the badger approached, Venya trotting at a brisk pace beside him. Brang stopped until they were face to face, and Venya stood besides Gabe. “So. Dad said you’re the new guy. Nice to meet you.” He offered a paw, which Feryn shook. “So I see you’ve already met Venya and Private Whipscutt here.” Gabe broke into a sunny grin, which was contagious; for Feryn found himself smiling too for absolutely no reason. “I think you’ll like the Patrol pretty well. Because this is peacetime; there’s not a lot to do but hang out and target practice, sword train and horseback ride, if you like that sort of thing.” “I do.” “Cool.” Suddenly Brang looked grim as he gazed at the turquoise sky, and then to the stone sundial. A shadow had fallen on the engraved numbers of 2:30. “Is it really 2:30?!” Brang cursed irately. “Great. Just great. Dad told me to be back at the forge ten minutes ago. I’m in for it now!” And with that, the teenage badger took off like a bolt of lightning, leaving a bunch of less-quiet hares in his wake. Break time was over, and the remaining hares found themselves returning to their peacetime duties. Armuk and Addison were deep in the woods to the north; engrossed in an outdoor council, discussing Addison’s visions. The sable and the marten were seated on a tree that had been felled by lightning, and talking in hurried whispers: “Really, is that as you say, Addison?” “Aye, m’lord. Everything is going very well.” “Good, good Addison. I always knew you were one I could trust…." At that same time, a certain young ferret named Alex was wandering through the woods on an empty stomach. Ever since he’d taken Feryn to Salamandastron earlier that afternoon; he’d been searching for food all day with little luck. The ferret’s best prize so far had been a small but nearly-empty thicket containing a few lonely blueberries, which he’d promptly eaten. But berries were certainly not enough to sustain him, and so he wandered, alone and forlon through the woods until he neared Addison and Armuk’s meeting spot. “…. But what we REALLY need right now, is a spy.” “Yes, yes, my Lord. I agree with you wholeheartedly. Someone to spy on the enemy and learn their secrets. We mustn’t remain hidden like this forevr.” “No, no. We mustn’t, Addison.” By now Alex had heard their voices from afar and hungrily wandered towards their clearing, figuring that the strangers would have food. So, with a hungry belly and a brave heart, he parted some of the bushes and stepped onto the hot and dusty ground. “Got any vittles to share?” Were the first words that came out of the ferret’s blueberry-stained mouth. Armuk immediately leapt up from his log and greeted the young one, speaking in a deceptively friendly voice “Yes, yes, my young friend. Addison and I have much food divided among us. Isn’t that right, Addison?” The blind pine marten nodded, taking an apple from a discarded haversack and biting into it. Alex licked his muzzle. “Now give this young one some food.” “Aye, m’lord.” Addison fished around in the sack for a moment, and produced another apple, which Alex caught and bit into greedily, devouring it the way termites devour wood. He sat cheerfully on the ground, and Armuk sat beside him, removing his cloak and sitting on it like a picnic blanket. “Now, young ferret, listen to my offer. Suppose you join me and my horde in a little…. Plan we’re making. Your position is needed deeply, and you will be paid well. With food.” Alex’s eyes brightened. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Take me to the vittles!” Armuk laughed slyly and dusted off his cloak, putting it back on. He strode over to Addison. “Perfect,” He whispered. “I believe we’ve found our spy.” Addison grinned. “You have, my Lord. I see potential in this one.” “As do I. The fools at Redwall and Salamandastron would NEVER suspect one so young!” “Brilliant.” Then, Armuk stood up and so did Addison. “All right, let us go.” Armuk said, leading the way out of the clearing. “Ok. Where are we going?” Alex asked, scrambling up eagerly and trying to follow. Armuk chuckled slyly and ruffled the ferret between the ears. “Someplace where there’s lots of vittles.” “Yum.” Alex grinned and licked his muzzle. “Hey! Wait up!” Several minutes later, as they were walking back, Alex almost lost sight of Armuk and Addison, them being adult animals and therefore much faster than him. Once, Alex stumbled and almost crashed into Addison, who gave him an odd look. He shuddered. There was something about the pine marten’s murky blue-gray eyes that gave him cold chills. But most of the time after that, things went well. The three vermin animals plodded along the Salamandastron beach, getting closer and closer to their destination. Alex the ferret happily trotted along; blissfully ignorant and unaware of the dangerous game he was being drawn into…. Armuk, Addison and Alex arrived back at the Ravager's camp some five minutes later. Alex was awestruck with the fading grandeur of the old place: The wallpapers were dusty and had odd, chipped paint and cob-web filled candleholders adorning it. On the ceiling there was a rusty hole where a chandelier once must've swung. The front hall was decorated sparsely; with a few red velvet wing chairs near an open picture window and a bas-relief drawing of a hippogriff. Near the chairs there was a marble fireplace; the fire having long gone out. All in all, it was a place of shadow and secrecy, and there was something about its atosphere that Alex loved. The ferret looked up as Armuk's icy blue eyes settled on him. "Stay here with Addison for the time being. I'll return." Grinning maliciously, Armuk strode up the carpeted Imperial staircase. His Spy and Oracle could wait. In the meantime; he had a traitor to deal with.... "Gyahh!!! Chief, mercy! Have mercy!!" Yelloweye the stoat yelped in horror as Armuk drove the dagger into his shoulder. The sable grinned maliciously and tore the dagger out of the hordebeast's shoulder. "Not until I get my information!" The Conqueror hissed icily. Yelloweye gulped, and Armuk went on "Where were you three nights ago? And don't lie. It's so easy to tell when you lie, Yelloweye. You're no good at it." "I... I told you, Lord, I was huntin' with Mangefur an' the others." "YOU DID NOTHING OF THE SORT!" Armuk raged. "You were selling information to Frith, weren't you? I heard Brownjaw mention it. Speak! Is this the truth?!" Yelloweye whimpered. "Y-yes.... I, I mean NO!" Armuk chuckled. Then, he gritted his teeth and cursed. His dagger missed. Yelloweye backed into the wall, panting heavily. “Don’t do it, Chief!” He whispered. “I ent Brownjaw’s little ‘elper; he’s innocent an’ so ‘m I! I’d never plot on yer life, m’lord! I’d march into Hellgates with you, Chief, I’m that loyal!” A sly smile played on Armuk’s muzzle. He would deal with Brownjaw later. Yelloweye was his priority now, and had to be disposed of as quickly as possible. “Good, because that’s exactly where you’re going!” And with that, Armuk proceeded to shove the screaming and whimpering Yelloweye to the dusty stained-glass window. “Any last words, stoat?” Yelloweye shook his head in terror. “Go on and meet your maker, you coward!” Armuk screeched, shoving Yelloweye through the window. It shattered immediately, and he crashed into the dirt, shards of colored glass surrounding his broken body. Armuk laughed maliciously, until another sable stepped out of the darkness. Zwilt. His power-hungry seventeen-year-old son. “Zwilt,” He growled. “Where, by the claw have you been?! It’s afternoon and I haven’t seen you since last night!” He grasped his son’s cravat fiercely. “Go on, speak up!” Zwilt only grinned evilly at his vicious father. “You have no right to make me tell, Father. And who knows! Maybe by the end of the season you’ll be in the ground and I’ll be the one running this pack of beggars. I’d be Zwilt the Conqueror then!” Armuk only laughed. “In your dreams, you scummy runt. Have you got a death wish, Zwilt? Do you want to be down there with your old mate Yelloweye?” Armuk pointed to the courtyard. Zwilt scoffed. “All right, you’ve won this time, old one. But don’t think you always will!” Armuk had his longsword pointed at Zwilt’s throat now. “And you’re going to be a loyal, respectful son or else you and Yelloweye will be keeping each other company by afternoon….” Zwilt wriggled out under his father’s grasp, muttering. Armuk departed with a swish of his cloak, saying “And don’t think you’re going to be on the expedition later.” Zwilt stopped dead in his tracks. “Expedition? What expedition?” Armuk only laughed slyly. “The one as sure as hellthunder you won’t be going on!” With a rush of cold wind and the slam of a door, Armuk Rinn was gone. Chapter Six: A dark horizon Meanwhile at Redwall Abbey; all was well. Here is an extract from the journal of Dania Wynn; recorder of Redwall Abbey at the time of The Blademaster’s Tale: This is to be my third year as recorder since old Samolus Fixa passed on; and seldom have I seen a summer so beautiful! Abbess Perrit wants to name it the Summer of the Blooming Sky and I agree with her…. Dania, a gray squirrel of only 24, sat at her desk in the Gatehouse Cottage, chewing at the edge of her pencil, uncertain on what to write next. The squirrel got up from her mahogany desk and over to the half-open bay window; eclipsed by two white silk curtains blowing in with a cool breeze. She climbed up onto the red velvet-cushioned window seat and, putting a knuckled paw under her chin, began to look around and think. The Gatehouse cottage, as Dania knew, was the atypical picture of the word ‘cottage’: The floor, although bare, was covered by a pale pink carpet, and the walls a cream-colored with a pattern of roses. On one end of the room there was a small stone fireplace; with a collection of porcelain bird statues on it. Near that; there was a couch and several wing chairs, as well as a long wooden gold-clawed coffee table with a bowl of fresh apples from the orchard at its center. Dania leapt down from the window seat and promptly took an apple from the bowl; biting into it and letting the cool juice trickle down her chin. Just as she had finished the apple AND felt she was on the verge of an idea; Dania nearly jumped against the wall at the sudden loud knocking; the squirrel had a tendency to startle easily. Two Dibbuns; Rusty the hedgehog and Shanna the squirrel came bursting in through the door, with torn clothes and muddy paws. “Dania, Dania, look what we found!!” Dania felt a slow smile spreading across her solemn features. “Ow! Rusty, you’re a right old villain!” Shanna growled, clutching a concealed object to her. Rusty shot a glare at her playmate; and hesitantly approached Dania, clutching a bouquet of daisies. “Rorzan helped us pick ‘em!” She exclaimed proudly. “Yeah, he did!” Shanna chimed in. Dania smiled, and arranged the flowers in a vase, sitting down after she did so. Dania’s eyes widened. “Rorzan?? Is that so?!” “Yeah, he was real nice with us an’ everythin’!” Dania thought about this as she sat back. Rorzan was the shy, quiet, 14-year-old son of Zaran the Black, the otter who had been at Redwall for quite some time now. “I find it very surprising to believe that it was Rorzan. He’s a big 14-year-old and you two aren’t even eight yet… But, it’s good to see him being social. He’s so quiet all the time it’s hard to tell what he likes and what he doesn’t. Anyway; if you two see him again tell him I said hi.” “Ok Dania!” “Bye Dania!!” And with that, the two dibbuns scrambled out, leaving muddy pawtracks in their wake. Dania smiled and returned to her desk. She felt much more inspired now; and had gotten back into her ‘writing mood’ So the young recorder took up her pencil and continued righting; unaware that there was ever-rising danger in the far-western land near Salamandastron….. In the parlor of the Ravager’s camp; a full-scale meeting was at hand, or rather paw. A plan was being made on how to get Alex into Salamandastron easily. Armuk sat, drumming his claws on a side table while Addison sat nearby, fumbling with her pebbles and seashells and muttering strange words in a low, haunting voice. I’m impressed she even knows what she’s doing….. the Ravager thought dryly as he observed. Finally, his patience was rewarded as Addison tossed down a spiral shell down upon the coffee table and uttered a strange cry “Keeyiyah!” “It is done, m’lord.” She keened in an excited voice. “I… Have seen the future!” “Good, then. Speak up.” Armuk coaxed her, anxious. Addison swallowed. The pine marten grinned wryly. She did a spreading gesture with her paws. “I now know what you must do to get our young spy into Salamandastron.” She fingered a small black pebble, worn smooth with time from the harshness of a raging sea. “D’ya see this pebble here, it represents Alex. And these here, are the Patrol.” She pointed to a small group of grayish rocks. “Now what you must do, my Lord, is that you shall take a small group of captains and mount a fake ambush to the northwest… Three young hares of the patrol will be taking lunch there at exactly 12:34 today…. You will seek to do the young one harm, but a troublesome young hare- what’s his name? Ferinus? Will come to his aid. He will offer Alex shelter at Salamandastron.” The pine marten chuckled. “And that is what I saw, m’lord.” Armuk began to pace. “Fine. That’s what I’ll do. What weapons should I take?” “Spears. And I would advise you’d take Brownjaw, Mangefur and Scabnose.” Brownjaw?! Armuk thought in disbelief, but kept his mouth shut. It would be apt to follow the Seer’s advice; as her visions had never been wrong yet. So Armuk grinned and stood, shivering a bit. He threw on a light traveling cloak. “You have done well, Addison. I’ll see to it you’ll be rewarded for this great success…. How would you like to dine with my officers and I and toast our victory over Redwall and Salamandastron?” Addison curtsied, chuckling slyly. “It would be an honor, my Lord.” Armuk waited until Addison had left the room. Only then did he have a quiet laugh with himself. Victory, he knew was not far off. Clang! Swish! Clang! Steel clashed against steel as Feryn’s broadsword collided with Venya’s rapier, the dancing blades gleaming wickedly as they reflected the summer sun and the cloudless, heather-blue sky in which it dwelled. “You fight well, Farmer Boy.” Venya commented wryly as she dodged Feryn’s well-placed uppercut. Feryn slashed again. “Don’t call me that!” “On the contrary.” Venya said with a grin. “I can call you anything I want!” “Watch out!” Taking a step back, and then forward, Feryn deflected Venya’s blow and landed a sharp parry to the top of Venya’s sword and shoved her back roughly. In turn; Venya threw her weight into her own blade, but her effort was futile. She decided to end the lesson when she grew weary and could no longer battle Feryn’s skillful moves. “Keep it up, Farmer Boy!” Venya called, picking up her sword and starting to walk off. Then, she started to dart off towards the mountain, sprinting at an impossible pace. “Let’s go back to the mountain.” “All right; not much to do out here anyway.” Feryn followed; and being a hare, he found it easy keeping up with her. “Hey…” Feryn paused, a grin spreading across his face. “Why not have a little fun on the way and make like we’re babes again? Race ya!” “Hey, no fair!” Feryn set a scorching pace in seconds, being a hare, and Venya laughingly pursued him. On a jetty overlooking the sea; a Warlady lay in wait. Her name: Zanna the Fang. Zanna the Fang was not a typical wildcat. She appeared normal, for the most part: She wore a dark, brownish-green sleeveless tunic and a black-dyed hemp cord with a shark fang on it dangled from her neck; and she also wore a dark, forest green cloak and dark brown breeches held up by the skin of an anaconda she had once slain. Her fur was a reddish-tan color, and her eyes a stunning shade of hazel- popular rumor had it that they could kill you if you stared at them for too long, although this was false. Zanna’s one real weapon, was her two front teeth. They were overlong and knife-sharp, and always protruded from her mouth and muzzle, giving her a grotesque overbite of sorts. But she was certainly not a creature to laugh at. So much as a nip from those teeth; and any unarmored creature would be dead; as Zanna’s fangs could cleave through fur and flesh all the way to bone. They did not call her death’s shadow for nothing… For Zanna the Fang was a sabertooth tiger. And to so much as call one a bad name was death. For anyone. As she walked along the dirt path extremely close to the blue-green sea; the surf pounded against the rocks. Zanna, not afraid of heights at all, bit into her greasy wing of woodpigeon and then calmly threw the bleached bone into the sea when she was done with it, walking on. She headed into the forest, acting on instinct alone. For Zanna the Fang had a mission to carry out….. The sabertooth walked alone down a bridle path; which was muddy and damp. Holly bushes and poison sumac grew in clumps along the trail. After a few more minutes of walking she reached the Ravager’s current camp: The mansion was a decaying; granite palace with an eerie, dark façade and an abandoned look to it. Grinning slyly, Zanna walked towards it and hoped for the best. At the same time Zanna the Fang approached the door of the Ravager’s camp, Armuk was growing restless. He paced the sitting room, like a wild tiger. Zwilt and Addison were with him; and there was only an hour to go before he would send Alex into the mountain… And it appeared he would have to follow his Seer’s advice; for try as he might, no other plan options would come into his usually fertile mind. The Warlord was still pacing as he argued with Addison over HOW exactly the campaign to take Salamandastron would go. Zwilt, who sat on the horsehair sofa, chuckled slyly as he pretended to read a map of Mossflower with a dagger stuck in the picture of Salamandastron. What fools, butting heads like a pair of rams! He thought. Do they really think the only thing I do in their spare time is sit and listen to them fight? “Zwilt!” Armuk snapped icily, glaring at his son from where he stood by the fire. “When I invited you to come and join the War Council I asked that you listen and learn. Are you?” “Yes, Father.” Zwilt’s voice was flat and emotionless. Armuk snorted. “My lord; must we tarry so?” Addison sighed, glancing at Armuk. “A spy is a bold move enough; but if you try anything more than that Gorath- and his children’s eyes will be on you. Do you really want that so soon?” Armuk immediately shook his head. “No. For the time being we must keep our approach subtle.” For once; Armuk agreed with his Oracle’s logic. Zwilt fidgeted a bit on the couch. “May I leave now?” “Hah!” Armuk rolled his eyes scornfully. “My fool son grows impatient….” He shrugged and resumed his plotting. “Patience, Zwilt. Patience.” Armuk turned his attention back to Addison, feeling he could trust her logic- but only for now. Zwilt sighed and got up. “Father; you said there’d be something INTERESTING for me to listen to but listening to a couple old fools bicker and then make truces isn’t that entertaining.” Armuk faced his son. “Did I ever say it would be?” He laughed humorlessly; saying to Addison. “He’s as foolish as his mother! My son seeks to be a Warlord, and yet he clearly does not have the motivation or patience.” He paused a bit, looking back to Zwilt. “I brought you here, my stupid, stupid son to teach you a bit of wisdom from me. Have you watched Addison or me at all? You should’ve learned something from this meeting.” “But, father!” “Enough. I’ve had enough of your recklessness Zwilt; now leave me to think. Addison you’re dismissed as well. I’ve heard enough from you for today.” And so Armuk was alone, a plan forming in his mind. So far, Addison, although he resented her, was proving to be helpful in the Salamandastron-Redwall campaign, but her visions no longer seemed concrete, and because of this the Conqeuror knew she would soon outlive her usefulness, and when that day came there would be blood. Much blood. A moment later there was a slight knock on the closed door. "Hello?" Armuk crossed the room and opened it. Zanna the Fang stood on the other side of it. The Warlord took a step back unexpectedly. "Are you Armuk Rinn the Conqueror?" Armuk stiffened, glared at her, and leaned on his sword. "As a matter of fact I am. Now who in Hellgates are you?" Zanna threw back her head and laughed. "I am Zanna the Fang and I'd like to talk to you about a few things..." "Such as?" "Well... Do you have a Seer or Oracle in your horde?" A look of shock flashed through Armuk's face. "Yes. Yes I do, though I get the feeling her visions and prophecies are false. I think she's a deceiver." Zanna smiled. "And that's where I come in.... What are your goals, Armuk?" Armuk eyed Zanna coolly. He was somewhat unconvinced still, but was beginning to like the way Zanna thought and talked. "I desire to take Redwall Abbey and Salamandastron. Currently I'm posting my spy inside the mountain." "Then I'll tell you what, Armuk... Why don't you trust me and not your Seer? I have a band of mercenaries camped out on the flatlands, all trained killers. Perhaps we could aid your cause?" Armuk turned back to Zanna, grinning. "I like the sound of that, Zanna. I like that a lot." So the Sabertooth Tiger and the Sable became reluctant allies, and began discussing what was now THEIR goal, and not just Armuk's: To assassinate the royal family of Salamandastron. The Long Patrol of course, was unaware with this scheme. The game had finally begun! END OF BOOK ONE Category:Fan Fiction Category:Blog posts